Fate's Healing
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: September 28, 2002- On the 6th anniversary of receiving The Paper, Gary gets a surprise thank you for one of his saves.


Fate's Healing  
  
Summary: On the 6th anniversary of receiving The Paper, Gary gets a very special surprise thank you for one of his saves. This very short story was inspired by "Fate."  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.  
  
Author's Notes: Today, September 28, 2002, would have been the 6th anniversary of when "The Pilot" episode of Early Edition aired on CBS. To celebrate this milestone, I wanted to write a short story to give our favorite hero, Gary Hobson, a special thank you that, IMHO, he deserved for a very long time. Although the very first early edition Gary received had a date in November, for purposes of this story, I chose to use the show's air date as the anniversary of Gary receiving The Paper.  
  
I dedicate this story to those fans of Early Edition who try to embrace the ideals and spirit of the show in the way in which they treat all people. IMHO, you represent what was the true message of the show.  
  
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com  
  
Fate's Healing  
  
My name is Gary Hobson and I'm not a hero. I'm just a regular guy born and raised in Hickory, Indiana. I grew up with two wonderful parents, Bernie and Lois Hobson. Mom and Dad taught me so much about the importance of family and friends and helping people whenever I could. Sure, they drive me crazy sometimes. I mean, I'm a grown man and they still treat me like a kid. There's a big advantage to me living in another state. I don't have to worry about them smothering me. I can be independent. But you know something? I do miss them and I guess that I'll never stop needing them. And I don't say it often enough because it's...well, I guess it's hard for me expressing my feelings, but I love my parents very much.  
  
I have two of the best friends that any guy could have. Okay, so Chuck doesn't always do the right thing, but I know that he'll be there for me when I need him and that he really cares about me. If you cut through Chuck's obsession with making money and his constant whining, deep down you'll find a great guy.  
  
Marissa.Marissa is just amazing. She has been blind almost her whole life. Most people would view blindness as a disability and use it as an excuse to be bitter and angry with the world, but not Marissa. Marissa is a loving and giving woman. She embraces life and people. She has more faith than anyone that I've ever known. Marissa doesn't have to see something to believe in it. She feels it with her heart and that's enough for her. That's why she believes in miracles.  
  
I guess that I used to believe in miracles, too. But six years ago, my life changed in a way that I could have never imagined. Just as I was dealing with the breakup of my marriage (I never saw that coming and even after all these years, the way my marriage ended still hurts very much), one morning I heard a meow and a thump outside of my hotel room door. When I opened the door, I found a cat sitting on top of a newspaper. Later, I discovered that this wasn't just any newspaper. I had received tomorrow's newspaper.today. With this early edition, someone, or something, had given me the power to prevent disasters, to help people, to make a difference.  
  
My name is Gary Hobson and I'm not a hero. I'm just a regular guy who just happens to know the future. I've never asked for the responsibility. I've never wanted it. And six years later, I still don't know where The Paper comes from. Maybe I'll never know. Maybe I don't want to know.  
  
I'm still trying to learn how to accept the responsibility and the loss. Accepting the loss is the hardest. I wonder if I'll ever really learn how to do that. I wonder if it will ever get any easier.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
September 28, 2002  
  
The skies parted and the heavens wept. The heavens cried uncontrollably shedding a deluge of tears upon an unsuspecting Chicago. Everyone was baffled. The weather reports had called for a bright and sunny day. What a lie!  
  
And to make matters worse, it was not a great day to be a hero.  
  
His schedule was as tight and unforgiving as a visiting diplomat. An early morning save at 7:00 a.m. had left him little time for breakfast. As he dashed through the office, he spied a box of donuts resting comfortably on the desk with a note that read "Happy Anniversary, Gary." He surmised that Marissa's handiwork was behind this gift. It took him a moment to soak in the words. Anniversary? What anniversary? Mud green eyes focused on the calendar hanging on a far corner of the wall. Then it finally struck him like a bolt of light from an avenging thunderstorm. Today was the sixth anniversary of him receiving The Paper. Gary was never one to make a big deal over such a thing. If truth be told, he wasn't sure that it was something that he wanted to celebrate. Six years. Most days it felt more like he had served six years of a life sentence without the possibility of parole. And checking The Paper today, with a roster of round the clock saves, yep, the "prisoner" would have his hands full today. Some anniversary.  
  
The ghost of Ebenezer Scrooge appeared to possess the bodies of the people of Chicago. Maybe it was the foul weather that had hardened people, but Gary had never met such a cantankerous bunch of ingrates that he had the misfortune of saving today. Ingratitude certainly filtered through a rainbow of individuals; young and old, male and female, black and white, it seemed as if each person he saved today had a caustic remark for him. "Get a life, you idiot!" was one of the kinder barbs hurled at him. He shot back in a sarcastic tone, "You're welcome!"  
  
It was nearly 6:00 p.m. when Gary returned home. He was completely drenched as he dragged his emotionally and physically spent body through the doors of McGinty's.  
  
The evening staff was busy preparing for what they hoped would be a healthy clientele tonight. Marissa was seated at one of the tables, her fingers intently focused on the inventory of accounts that had been transcribed in Braille. Since Marissa handled the daily operations of the business, she had most of the records written in Braille. There was also another copy of the records written in English for Gary.  
  
"Gary?" She called out to her preoccupied friend as she heard the familiar footsteps and felt a gust of air whip past her.  
  
He stopped somewhat embarrassed yet contrite that he had almost proceeded to the office without so much as a word of greeting for his friend.  
  
"Sorry." He whispered.  
  
"You know how much I hate the word sorry." She reminded him. She smiled at him knowingly. "Rough day?"  
  
Gary rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Rough day?" He repeated with an undercurrent of annoyance and frustration as the memories of today's saves flooded his mind. "That's the understatement of the year. I think that just about every nut in Chicago was out today and I know because I met all of them! What is it about rain anyway? So it's wet and cold. That's still no reason to kick a guy who is trying to help you."  
  
"What happened?" She asked simply. Marissa had learned a long time ago that whenever Gary was in one of these moods it was best not to offer advice. What he needed most was to vent and to have someone willing to listen to him.  
  
"I stopped a kid from tumbling head first into an open manhole and the kid's mother acted like I was trying to molest her son. She hit me and threatened to call the police. Then I stopped another kid from skateboarding into a cement truck. And that little ingrate cursed at me. I pulled him to safety, saved his neck, and he's angry because his skateboard ended up going into the street and was crushed by a car. I pushed a woman out of the way of a bucket of water that had fallen from a scaffolding and she complained that when I pushed her, I made her fall and ruined her new sweater. And she wanted to have me arrested for assault and battery! You know something? I don't need this! These people can help themselves the next time. I'm tired. I'm going to take a long, hot shower and then I'm going to bed. Good night." Gary grumbled before starting towards the office.  
  
"Gary?"  
  
He turned back around. "Yeah?"  
  
"This came for you." Marissa informed him as she handed him a letter. He walked towards her and took the letter. "Thanks." He said.  
  
The penmanship was neat and deliberate as it danced across the pale blue envelope. Yet, there was no return address on the envelope. Gary climbed the stairs to the loft, opened the door, and turned on the lights. The desire for a shower and rest had fallen victim to his curiosity in the missive that he held in his hand. He took off his leather jacket and flung it on a chair, walked over to the couch, sat down, opened the letter, and began to read:  
  
"Dear Gary,  
  
I hope that you don't mind me calling you Gary. It has taken me some time to work up the courage to write to you and I must admit that I'm a bit nervous about it even now. I don't really know why except that in writing this letter I'm forced to open up some old wounds and to dredge up some painful memories. Painful memories but happy memories. I guess that I'm not making much sense, am I? I hope that when you finish reading this letter, you will understand. It was unfair of me to wait so long in contacting you, unfair to both of us, really. I'm very sorry for that.  
  
My name is Ruth Mason. We met several years ago at my brother Jeremiah's funeral. I remembered that you ran up to the car just as we were leaving the cemetery. You said that you just wanted to say that you were sorry. I thought that maybe you had known Jeremiah from the library, but you said that you didn't. You listened to me share my memories of my brother, how he spent hours in the library. You listened to me share my dreams for him and me trying to understand the life that he had chosen for himself. You didn't say anything. You just listened as I struggled to find a way of dealing with my grief.  
  
I should have asked you for your name at the time, but I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. But something in your face and the way you listened to me, it.well, I guess I've never forgotten that. Later that night, after family and friends who wanted to pay their respects to Jeremiah left my home, I was alone. I put on the television because I just needed to feel connected to something that wasn't a part of my grief. The news was on. I don't know if I really heard it because I was just sitting there on the couch staring at the television. But then I heard a report about the fire and about Jeremiah and I guess I snapped out of...snapped out of the darkness, I suppose, out of the pain, because I heard the report. I heard them say that a Good Samaritan had tried to save my brother's life. Then they showed a clip of your face and I heard them say the name Gary Hobson.  
  
A reporter was interviewing Detective Armstrong, I believe that was the gentleman's name, about a carpet store collapse and how you had been feared dead, but was later rescued. The detective confirmed that you were the man who had tried to save Jeremiah on that rooftop. It took me a few weeks to get the strength, but with the Good Lord's help, I found the strength to go to the police station. I wanted to talk to Detective Armstrong. I needed to know what happened. I wanted to know about Jeremiah's last moments. Maybe I should have just gotten your address and come directly to you, but somehow I wasn't ready. I didn't know why at the time, but now I do.  
  
I wasn't ready because I felt guilty, Gary. I felt guilty and ashamed. Jeremiah was my brother and I couldn't help him. I didn't help him. I tried to justify my inaction by saying that Jeremiah had the life that he wanted and it wasn't my right to judge him or even to understand. But does anyone really choose to be homeless? Maybe Fate makes that choice for them. Maybe I should have done something, anything, to help my brother even if he didn't want to help himself. If you hadn't tried to save him, Jeremiah would have probably died anyway on that roof that day. But he would have died as so many people on the street die everyday as a nameless John Doe that is quickly forgotten by everyone. Because of you, I was notified about Jeremiah's death. I was able to assemble family and friends to say goodbye to him. I was able to bury my brother properly. I don't know if you remember this or not, but during the funeral, the priest said that Jeremiah was blessed by faith. And that was true. I know that Jeremiah carried a lot of faith in his heart despite the life that he had led.  
  
Detective Armstrong told me how you risked your own life to save my brother. For that I will be eternally grateful to you. Did you know that Jeremiah was afraid of heights? He had been every since he was a little boy. Detective Armstrong told me that you made a makeshift bridge across a nearby building with a ladder that you found on that roof. That you went over first and then you tried talking Jeremiah across. I know that Jeremiah died when he fell off that ladder and that you couldn't hold onto his arm.  
  
I can't even imagine the tremendous guilt that you must have felt because you couldn't hold on to him. I remembered that at Jeremiah's funeral you looked so remorseful. I remember that you repeatedly told me that you were sorry. I'm writing to you now because it's time that you know, that I told you, that you have nothing to be sorry for. Maybe it was in God's plan for Jeremiah to die that day. Maybe after all the years that he had spent on the streets, how tired and alone he must have been, God was ready to comfort him and welcome him home to Heaven. Maybe it was God's choice that Jeremiah needed to die that day.  
  
But despite the Lord's purpose for my brother's life and maybe the purpose He had for Jeremiah's death, I want to thank you, Gary. I want to thank you for risking your life to save him. I want to thank you for not seeing him as a homeless man, but just as a man who needed help.  
  
I hope that if you are still feeling any pain because you were unable to save Jeremiah, that this letter will be a source of comfort in helping you to find a way to let it go. Guilt is constantly hungry. It will eat away at you until nothing is left but a shell. Please don't let it do that to you. You gave all that you had to save Jeremiah, but like I said, maybe God wanted Jeremiah home. Maybe it was just time.  
  
I know that Jeremiah was blessed to spend his final moments on this Earth looking into your caring eyes. I'm glad that he wasn't alone at the end, that he was with someone who cared when he went off to meet the Good Lord.  
  
God Bless you, Gary Hobson. God Bless and Keep you always,  
  
Ruth Mason."  
  
  
  
Time heals, but so does fate. That's the hardest thing to understand sometimes. Because sometimes through the greatest pain and the greatest heartache, the most wonderful blessings emerge. It's easy to forget that sometimes.  
  
The End. 


End file.
